A Study in Healing
by Jasmine-Tovey
Summary: T/W: self harm/depression. A young Sherlock Holmes finds solace in John Watson during possibly the most difficult time of his life. Eventual Johnlock AU: High School. CHAPTER SEVEN IS UP!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is the first proper fanfic that I have uploaded on here. Please give me constructive criticism and any tips that could make it better. I look forward to hearing from you! More chapters soon!

Much love, Jasmine xx

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC

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A Study in Healing

Sherlock regretted the first step that he took into St John's. It was just after the summer holidays and he immediately knew that year 11 was going to be a pile of bullshit. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket as he was sauntering to the toilets to skip form registration. "Mycroft," He snapped, "What do you want?"  
"What's so wrong with checking up on my brother on his first day back at school?"  
Sherlock grimaced at his brother's slimy voice coming through the phone. "Just tell me what you want." He really wasn't in the mood for his brothers shit. The tall boy listened to his brother's whinging with a scowl.  
"Are you listening to me, Sherlock? Like I said," Mycroft replied in his composed manner, his voice as calm as he could get when talking to Sherlock, "As you know, I'm going to be away for a few weeks so mother and father will be expecting you home at 4 o clock sharp." Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, his brother was such a boring shit.  
"Right." He muttered, hanging up the phone and stuffing it in his pocket. Lessons would start in ten minutes, God's sake. Why was he even here? With a sharp turn, Sherlock slammed his body into the toilet door, wincing at his bones crunching against it. He could hide in there for a couple of minutes before being dragged off to registration. A bang on the toilet door told him that his time was up. Sherlock rolled his eyes once more and stalked off to form; hating this sodding school.

...

It was the middle of English when John Watson, the newest member of year 11, walked into the library; his hair still damp from morning rugby practise. His golden skin was glowing from the exercise, which made Sherlock's chest seize a little. Making his way to turn a computer on, John shot a slight abashed look Sherlock's way, making his brows knit together in concentration. He couldn't deduce much from this boy, it was infuriating. A frustrated growl escaped from Sherlock's mouth as he finally tore his gaze from the boy. John looked so consumed by what he was doing; reading about Shakespeare. He didn't look the sort to be interested in such drivel. With that new found information, Sherlock couldn't help but to feel intrigued by the boy's ambiguity. The confused thoughts bubbled inside of him, stirring around and lingering –waiting for him to eventually crack and delve for information about this seemingly normal boy.

"Oi, fag! What're you staring at?" A hiss of a question snaked itself around Sherlock, momentarily stunning him and catching him off guard. Anderson glanced behind his shoulder to where Sherlock was looking, sneering at him in scrutiny. "Who're you being a pervert on then, Holmes?"

"Ah Anderson, what're you doing here, in a library? I would have thought by your IQ that you're here to read the picture books. You'll have to go to the primary school down the street. I see you have evolved enough to form a simple sentence." Sherlock spat, his cool eyes boring into Anderson's; staring right through the grubby adolescent. The boy's spotty face contorted into something of a grimace. Sherlock smirked at the sullen boy scrunched into his ugly school uniform. "Can you comprehend the words 'fuck off' yet, or are we still working on that?" With that, he turned back to his laptop and ignored the jeers coming from Anderson's crew of testosterone pumped Neanderthals. The sooner they sod off the better; Sherlock Holmes had no time for their meaningless drivel that spouted from their mouths. He couldn't concentrate with this shit anymore; it was just too much to handle so quickly. With exasperation for half the idiots that existed in St John's, Sherlock shoved his books into his bag, not caring if they creased, and left the library. There was no place for him there.

...

Throughout the day, he constantly found his gaze rest at John, searching for any clues he was giving away about himself. It made Sherlock's stomach churn, what was it about this boy that he couldn't deduce? He knew what John vaguely liked, how he likes his hair to be done, what deodorant he prefers best. That he hates the way that spiders crawl... But what was it that was so fucking blank about John Watson that he couldn't detect?

...

By lunchtime, the day was dragging; his body stung, and Sherlock just couldn't think straight. As soon as the bell rung, Sherlock bolted. He faced the wall outside, far from sight of any CCTV cameras and pulled out a fag. God, he needed this. With shaking hands, he struggled to light the cigarette, leading to a roar of frustration. An uncomfortable cough from him made Sherlock spin around, bumping his head against the wall. John Watson looked back at him meekly before muttering "Sorry" and turning back on his heel and quickly walking away. Sherlock frowned before taking a drag from the newly lit cigarette. What the hell was that?

...

Making his way to the parking lot, Sherlock was consumed by the very little information that he had gathered about John Watson that day- and the absolutely shit day that he had had at school. He hated this shit hole of a school. _I can't fucking stand it here, I don't know how long I can take this shit day after_- The slight rumble of a car ripped the boy from his thoughts. "Thank God," He hissed under his breath, sarcasm dripping from his mouth, "Just when I needed a cigarette. You really know when to pick the perfect time." He got into the BMW with a flounce, shutting the car door with much more force than necessary.

Sherlock felt his phone buzz once more during the car ride. He snarled and ripped the phone from his trouser pocket, growling the words "Fuck off, Mycroft." The angered boy just wanted isolation for one fucking second, was that too much to ask?  
"Sherlock," Came his brother's aggravated reply, "Look. I just wanted to... check in on you, considering that-" Sherlock hung up with a grunt, hating his brother for being such a meddlesome git. He never got a single moment to himself without disruption; it made him want to strangle someone. Sherlock slumped in the car, watching the landscape fly past him, and waited for the tedious journey to end.

...

"Sherlock! You're home." Sherlock's mother, Vivian Holmes, called uninterestedly from the living room. She didn't come out to greet him, she never did. Sherlock mumbled in response and stalked upstairs to go to his bedroom, accidentally stumbling into his father as he turned a corner. His father swore viciously under his breath as he shoved past the lanky teenager.  
Sherlock gritted his teeth and ran for his bedroom. He needed to be alone, he needed this, _now_. The shaking boy slammed his door shut and bolted it, closing the curtains; shutting off all light from reaching the room. With paralysed lungs, he gasped for air as he delved into his draws, ransacking them until there was nothing inside. Where was it? Why the fuck wasn't it in his hands already!? Sherlock swallowed and tried to remember where he had placed it this morning, his brain hurting and jaws clenching. Small tears of frustration stung his eyes as he gave a desperate cry. He _needed_ it. A miniscule glint of metal caught Sherlock's eye and he almost shouted in relief. Sherlock dove to get the blade before he could lose it again. He let out a shaky breath as he held it close to his body, the feeling of security, the feeling that he had _something _that he could rely on. The overwhelming emotion that he was so completely alone that he had to take comfort in this was too much; tears escaped from his red eyes as he squatted down against the cold wall of his bedroom. Breath after shaking breath led to complete hysteria, the boy was breaking down. He couldn't breathe; Sherlock couldn't do anything but sit in total paralytic distress. His whole body was quivering, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He couldn't do this. The small hunch started to rock back and forth gently, sobs coming from his bloodied mouth where he had been biting his lip to stop himself from being heard. He was such a coward; such a fucking coward. How could he do this to himself? Sherlock whimpered and succumbed to the urge, ripping his shirt off in the darkened room, the same routine of years flashing through his clustered mind. The blade did its ferocious work on his body as Sherlock's hand guided it in frenzy; strike after strike on his tender body. All of sudden, the hysteria died down. The thoughts stopped; the feeling of nothingness, no pain. Nothing. All he could feel was the warm liquid flowing down from his body, it was tranquilising. His shallowed breathing steadily returned back to normal, the realization of what he had done smacking him in the face. "Sh-shit." He whispered, making a move to turn the light on and immediately regretting it, burning sensations rippling through his body. Sherlock gulped weakly, chastising himself for being so fucking stupid.

Sherlock stared down at his ruined body. He had a feeling that he needed stitches, the boy hissed as he examined one; it would heal. This was certainly not the worst time, not by a long shot. The scarred boy looked helplessly at the destruction he had done to himself, haunted by the time that Mycroft found him lying in a pool of his own blood, barely conscious. Sherlock shuddered at the distinct memory, the paralysing disgust that he felt towards himself. He had become a monster.

The pale boy staggered to his desk, muttering profanities until he finally sat on his chair, opening a draw to get bandages and butterfly stitches. What had he changed into? Sherlock frowned as he tried to remember a time where this hadn't become his nightly ritual. Shaking his head, he cleaned himself up, gritting his teeth at the sensitivity. His thoughts had started to get cloudy again; it wasn't fair. Taking a deep breath, he opened his laptop to find anything he could about John Watson. It was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Many thanks to my lovely friend Annabel, whose creative ideas and constant reviews of each paragraph almost, made Study in Healing an actual Fanfic. Thank you so much! 3

(Also, I'm sorry if this chapter isn't the best. I had a bit of trouble with the fluff since I have never done it before)

Thank you guys for reading and I hope you enjoy! Jasmine xx

Disclaimer: Still not my characters

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**Chapter Two:**

Sherlock woke sharply, a loud buzzing screeching in his ear. What the fuck? The half-awake boy put the phone to his ear with a groan, "Mycrof-"  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" A heated question was all but shouted down the phone, startling Sherlock in his groggy state. The guilt dropped down to his stomach, making him feel sick. _He knew_.  
"I.. I-" Sherlock couldn't form the words from his quivering lips.  
"Don't try to explain yourself! You knew exactly what you were doing! Turning the lights off so that nobody could see you? I should've never have left." Mycroft was shouting down the phone, emotion pouring off him like sweat. Sherlock stopped hearing words and could only hear the sound of his own pulse; his vision was clouding and before he knew what he was doing, he hung up the phone on his distraught brother. Shame was clinging to him like the leftover blood from last night. With a nervous grimace, he walked to his ensuite for a hesitant and painful shower.

"Sherlock! Don't forget your breakfast!" Vivian called, walking out to meet her son in the hallway. Concern was written over her face like always, it never changed. Sherlock dismissed his worried mother with an eye roll and walked out the door muttering goodbye. The cold air whipped his damp hair over his face, sticking in his already sore eyes. His school uniform irritating the injuries under the well wrapped bandages. The sight of the diver down the drive was no comfort to Sherlock; knowing that in half an hour he'll be stuck in the hellhole otherwise known as St John's. Sherlock hesitantly got into the car, being careful not to bend too much. He nodded in stiff greeting to his driver and rested his head against the seat; dreading for the day to start.

...

Before entering the school, Sherlock took a detour around the other side of the building. He couldn't enter without a cigarette after last night. While walking against the chilling wind, the boy thought about the information that he had gathered about John Watson last night. Hacking into record files is so much easier than anybody would imagine. John Watson, son of a soldier fighting in Iraq, son of a nurse at St Barts Hospital, brother of a student at university. Interesting. While those thoughts were still in his mind, Sherlock dug in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, using his hand to shield it from the gale force winds while he tried to set it alight. He looked over the landscape of the school; from here, the tall adolescent could see St John's rugby team at their morning practise. He studied John's figure moving about the field; claiming ownership of it like he had never seen anybody do before. It was mesmerising to Sherlock to see someone with actual ferocity as they played.

The tall boy turned his back on the training team to examine his abdomen, which was causing him quite a lot of discomfort. Upon examination, he found that maybe he should have stayed at home. The movement required to get about on a daily basis was causing the injury to re-open. Shit. Sherlock had some medical tape in his bag; he'd go to the toilets and apply them after the cigarette was finished. With an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, Sherlock felt that someone was behind him. He turned around slowly and was met with the same face he'd been watching earlier. John Watson looked at him inquisitively and nodded towards his lower torso. Sherlock swallowed and thought of something to say.  
" I... I-Er.. What are you doing here?" He winced slightly as he leant back against the wall, trying to mask that anything had been wrong. Taking another puff of his cigarette, he looked at the smaller boy in questioning. "Well?" John licked his lips and muttered,  
"'Was just walking over to the changing rooms when I saw you smoking. Again." He avoided Sherlock's gaze and went to leave before Sherlock held onto his arm lightly.  
"What's it to you if I smoke or not?" Sherlock's eyes were staring straight through the smaller boy, delving deep into John's mind; taking in every bit of information he could. John's blue orbs were stunned, trying to figure out what the hell was going on before moving his arm away.  
"I was just... Never mind." John said, walking away from him to go to get changed, leaving Sherlock to mull over all of the new information that he had dug out. John Watson had a caring nature, probably due to his father being in Iraq and having to be the man of the house; that's why he checked up on a complete stranger. He swallowed as the cigarette dropped to the ground from a shaking hand. Blinking, he tried to clear his murky vision before collapsing where he stood.

Walking from the changing rooms, John Watson spotted a crumpled figure beside a wall. He stood still and frowned at the unmoving body before running over to its aid. He eyed the body suspiciously and realised that it was the boy he was talking to earlier. John couldn't help but to marvel at the marble-like skin that the boy possessed before checking his pulse. He pulled the boys sleeve up to feel his wrist to be greeted by bloodied bandages covering his entire arm. Horrified, the small adolescent gingerly lifted the shirt of the unconscious figure a couple of inches to examine his abdomen, to see what the boy had been looking at earlier. John's eyes widened at the sight; pure sadness covered the boy's body like paint. Scars upon scars littered the boy's stomach, with butterfly stitches covering recent wounds. Without thinking, John lifted the surprisingly light boy and carried him round to the font of the school.  
"Nurse! I need the nurse!" John called; making sure the receptionist heard him clearly. He walked stiffly to the nurse's room before laying the unconscious body down on the examination bed. John looked over his shoulder and muttered quickly. "He fainted. He's okay; he just fainted about a few minutes ago." The smaller boy made sure that he stood close to the fainted body; ready to interject if she went to examine his body. The nurse eyed the body over half heartedly and scribbled a few notes down.  
"He'll be fine." She murmured before returning to her office. John, fairly confused at what just happened, called for her to wait before marching into her office. He glared down at where she was sat.  
"Excuse me?" He demanded, yeah he wouldn't have let her touch his wrist but at least she could have tried to have stuck to her job properly. "This boy has just fainted and you barely even glanced at him!" The lady looked at John with very little interest. "How do you know that he's going to be okay?"  
"That's Sherlock Holmes, that's how I know. Now will you leave me to do my work, or do you want me to be sacked?" The nurse grumbled before turning back to her computer and completely ignoring John's existence. Taking offense at this lady's attitude, John huffed and walked out of her office, shutting the door behind him with a loud crack. If this lady wouldn't look after Sherlock Holmes, then John Watson would put his medical studying to good use.

As soon as he pulled a seat to watch over Sherlock, the body stirred and little groans were making their way out of Sherlock's plump lips. John moved closer to see his almond eyes wake tiredly. They moved around deliriously before settling on his sharply. John's mouth tried to form words but no sound came out.  
"What're you doing here?" Sherlock felt his lips speaking but could barely hear his own voice, what was going on? His eyes focused on John's mouth, the tongue darting out to lick his lips nervously before speaking made him forget that he was trying to lip read. He shook his head groggily, trying to force himself to be fully awake. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the very little sound that was slowly returning. He felt John's hand rest very tenderly on his arm, sending a shock of pain straight through him. The pale boy closed his eyes and opened them very slowly; looking straight into John as he did so. There was a look in the blonde's eye that he couldn't place, it was peculiar.  
"Er... You were... You were out for a long time." John said quietly, not looking at Sherlock anymore. Sherlock followed his gaze which led to his arm; he frowned and moved it subtly, drawing John's eyes back up to his.  
"Yeah... I forgot to eat this morning. Nothing spectacular about my illness, I'm afraid." Sherlock's voice was deeper than usual and raspy, making his speech stop suddenly in embarrassment. He cleared his throat, "I'm sure I will be fine." With that, Sherlock swung his legs out from the bed, almost falling flat on his face as they buckled. John's strong arms broke the fall as he propped Sherlock's weak frame against him, Sherlock's hair brushing against his face. Half of him was glad that Sherlock couldn't see his blush starting to form.  
"You'll be _fine_, sure." John said sarcastically; guiding him to the bed once more, being extremely careful to not brush against him too hard for two very different reasons. "Would you like to say that again and actually mean it?" John grinned for the first time in front of Sherlock Holmes; who found heat rushing to his face as he blushed in turn. The pale boy found his lips forming a smirk; he might have underestimated John Watson, it seemed.

After a short comfortable silence, John looked at Sherlock once more, concern filling his eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?" He asked hesitantly, leaning forward to really look at Sherlock. Before Sherlock could even answer, John abruptly stood and walked to the door. "I'll go and get you a sandwich from the canteen. Stay there."  
Sherlock couldn't help but to grin to himself, John Watson was so much more than he had initially thought. It made him think, was it because he didn't know who he was? _What_ he was?

John returned shortly after leaving with two ham sandwiches. He smiled apologetically when he saw Sherlock's disgust. "I don't know what you liked... Sorry." The blonde tossed Sherlock a sandwich and sat down on the seat. It seemed closer than before, making John's body go warm; he might as well have been lying on the bed next to him. Taking his mind off it, he un-wrapped the sandwich and started to eat. Sherlock was watching him eat with an unreadable expression on his face, his eyes staring through him again. John nodded towards the untouched sandwich, feeling guilty. "Is it really that bad? Do you want me to get a different one?"  
Sherlock shook his head violently, waving a hand dismissively, "No, no. I'm just not hungry..." John looked at Sherlock sceptically, this boy was infuriating.  
"Sherlock, please eat. You have to." John's warm eyes were looking at Sherlock with such kindness, it made him sick. He didn't deserve this.  
"I don't have to do anything." He said coldly, snapping his head to glare at the smaller boy. "I certainly don't have to eat." The pale boy rolled the last word off his tongue with such exaggeration, it made him feel light headed. Taking a deep breath, he tried to level the stare without fainting again. John returned his scowl as best he could.  
"You eat. Now." The blonde growled, sending a wave of heat down to Sherlock's groin. Sherlock inwardly smirked; John was having none of it. It was surprising, really. John Watson was made of forceful stuff, it appeared.  
"And what if I refuse?" Sherlock maintained a cool air about him, slowly rearranging himself on the bed so that his legs were over the side, swinging them lightly. He smirked at the muscular boy, making it clear that the earlier outburst was to push him. John looked back at Sherlock, totally deadpan.  
"I'll make you." The boy grabbed the sandwich lying beside Sherlock's frame, and un-wrapped it, handing him the sandwich. "Go on." John said gently, his eyes looking tenderly into Sherlock's. Feeling disgusted with himself, the pale boy took a tiny bite of the sandwich, struggling to even chew the stodgy bread; his face contorting into a grimace as he started to wretch. It was too much for his stomach to handle. John's actions were lightening quick; grabbing the wastepaper bin and holding it under Sherlock's mouth just in time as he was just about to empty his newly filled stomach.

"I'm calling your parents. You're too ill to be in school." The nurse's shrill voice filled the small room, her beady eyes staring at the two boys in dismay. "You, Mr Watson, have skipped all of your morning lessons. I suggest you resume your school day as normal and apologize thoroughly to your teacher." Defeated, John shot Sherlock a sideways glance before leaving the nurses room. Sherlock smirked to himself despite the nausea; he really had underestimated this boy. Perhaps Sherlock wasn't always right.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! _**Please give reviews so I can make it better! **_

(Yes, I know that Sherlock is _very_ emotional, but you can understand why)

Oooooh, cliffhanger! Enjoy!

Much love, Jasmine xx

Disclaimer: Not my characters.

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**Chapter Three:**

John Watson walked into St John's secondary school with tired eyes; he had barely got any sleep last night since he couldn't get Sherlock out of his head. What was so mysterious and wonderful about fainting and then throwing up all over the place? The blonde shook his head; he must just be tired, that's all. Of course he didn't find Sherlock wonderful; he had been with him for an hour for God's sake. With a slow plod, he went to registration.  
The small blonde sat down next to his class mate, Daniel West. He nodded in greeting before saying quietly, "You know that Sherlock Holmes?" West pulled a face.  
"Who doesn't?" The taller boy spat, disapproval filling his features. He eyed John suspiciously, "Why? You're not hanging around with the fag, are you?" John frowned at the use of the word, shaking his head vehemently.  
"Wha- No. No, I just wanted to er..." John thought frantically of what to say, "I wanted to see why people didn't like him. That's all." The blonde's chest loosened as the bulky adolescent fell for the lame cover-up.  
"He's a fucking fag! That weirdo can look at you and tell you your whole life story like he's been stalking you." West grimaced, leaning closer to John. "Has he done it to you yet, then, John?" John knitted his eyebrows together thoughtfully, pulling a confused face. He shook his head lightly.  
"No. He hasn't." The blonde said; his voice small. Why hadn't Sherlock done that? What did it mean? John couldn't help feeling rather rejected as the bell rung in his ear. Waking up as he walked to his next lesson, his thoughts were overwhelmed with the amount of sympathy for Sherlock Holmes.

"You're late." Miss Kendal's voice was loud and out of place in the silent classroom. John followed her glare to a tall pale figure, _Sherlock_. The lanky boy was stood against the door frame with a frosty atmosphere circling him.  
"Yes, I am aware of that." He muttered before taking a seat at the back of the classroom. Sherlock looked at John out of the corner of his eye, remembering what had happened yesterday. The pale face was perfectly blank, making it unreadable to anybody who dared to look at him. Inside, he was spitting mad. How did John Watson think that he had the fucking right to do that to him?! Did he think that he wouldn't notice all the signs? That his shirt was pulled out of his trousers? That John kept on looking at his body instead of him? Sherlock scowled, the anger rising within him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from John. His vision was blurred and unfocused, the angered thoughts swirling around in his mind. The pretentious, nosy son of a-  
"Sherlock! The bell has gone, it's break time." The teacher suddenly appeared beside him, touching his shoulder to bring his attention on her. The boy snarled and stood, the chair scraping back across the floor; making the woman jump back in surprise. Before she could say anything to the pale boy, he was already out of the door and marching out of the school. Why did he even bother? John had caught him at his weakest and taken advantage. He'd give him something to fucking look at. Sherlock jammed his fist into his pocket and brought out a fag, lighting it within seconds. He took a deep drag, and then stormed off to the field to see where exactly the boy was. A twisted smile contorted his lips, why hadn't he pushed John away? Sherlock felt victimized by the teenager. He narrowed his eyes at a figure walking towards him slowly. Clenching his fist; he struggled to keep his temper under control. The taller boy should have socked him right there and then.  
"Nice to see you checking up on me." Sherlock sneered, leaning down to the body, intimidating him. John was taken aback at the hostile greeting. He moved closer to Sherlock, frowning.  
"Wha- Excuse me?" He asked, trying to think of what he had said to Sherlock to make him so hateful towards him. Sherlock laughed, a bitter sound filling the air. He dropped his unfinished cigarette to the ground and ground it savagely with his heel.  
"You know what." He growled; staring at John with all the fury he could muster. John's gaze changed from something ignorant to one of horror. The smaller boy put up his hands in submission as he tried to explain himself.  
"I-"  
"No!" Sherlock roared, moving so that he was inches away from John's pained face. "Don't even try to excuse yourself." He snarled, looking deep into John's blue eyes. "You want to gawp, to see the circus freak?" The boy spat, yanking his sleeve up and pushing it in the other boy's vision. "Or do you want to wait until I'm unconscious to do that?" Sherlock swallowed, trying to overcome the tears that were welling in his eyes. He turned sharply, and was just about to walk away until he felt something tug on his sleeve.  
"Sherlock, Sherlock – wait!" John cried, stopping the moving figure in its tracks. "I'm not... I wasn't-"  
"I'm a freak!" Sherlock screamed; spinning round with such force it pushed John over onto the wet grass. He towered over John's helpless body, the tears falling from his face before he could stop them. The tears landed gently on John's school uniform. "I'm just a..." Sherlock felt himself becoming faint, shit. This couldn't happen. He was too strong for that to happen. Not now. The dizzy boy backed off, leaning against the school wall weakly.  
John saw his chance and rose slowly, keeping his movements gentle. It was like dealing with a feral animal. "Sherlock..." He said softly, looking into the boy's icy eyes. "You are so far from a freak... So far from it." Gradually, John got closer. "I'm sorry, I didn't know what I was thinking... I wanted to make sure that you were okay." His throat closed up on the last word; it was so evident that Sherlock Holmes was not.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for continuing the journey with me! As you know it's my first fanfiction so... I hope it's going alright.

Lots of fluff this chapter, so enjoy! (Sorry it's a bit rushed. It's just something to keep you going because I have school so it won't be updated as quickly) Jasmine xx

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.

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**Chapter Four:**

Sherlock gazed at John with tearful eyes, gulping hard as his legs buckled. His body slid roughly against the school wall until it hit the floor with a soft thump. "I..." He tried; swallowing once more. John was sat next to him, watching him with a caring expression. He shushed him gently, a hand reaching out to rest on his shoulder.  
"It's okay..." The blonde started, looking tenderly into Sherlock's defeated eyes. "I know what it's like, you know." He licked his lips slowly. "To be alone." John moved his tongue around in his mouth, trying to find the right words that could express what he felt. "I know that it's scary. Fuck, it's terrifying." Sherlock looked back at him tiredly, he was so done. It was obvious; written all over his face like the scars on his body. "I..." He stopped, feeling like he had said too much already. He had only known this body for a short while, why was he pouring his heart out to him?  
"You..." Sherlock urged, the voice coming out of him rasp and sore. He knew what John was going to say even before he said it; the feeling twisting his heart; cutting off his breath.  
"I found my sister..." He whispered, nervously licking his lips. "I... er..." He let out a shaky breath, shaking his head slightly. "I thought she was dead. She looked it." The blonde stopped, swallowing. "She wanted to be."  
Sherlock's eyes widened, finding a new respect for John. In that moment, he knew why he had walked up to him; a complete stranger, when he saw him smoke. Somebody that smokes when they're as young as Sherlock is usually hiding something. It made his jaw clench slightly. "I just know that... Whatever you're experiencing, you don't have to do it alone." Sherlock gulped once more; his mouth quivering as it betrayed him and spoke the words that he was trying to restrain for so long.  
"I tried to end my life once." Shame was clutching onto him, almost making speech impossible. "I... I didn't... I would have died if Mycroft hadn't found me..." Sherlock bowed his head, shaking his curls from side to side. "I'm sorry-" He started, feeling like a fool.  
"Never be sorry." John said gently, suddenly finding himself to be closer to Sherlock. There was an obscene intimacy about his position. "You never have to be sorry." He said slowly, licking his lips once more as he shifted closer to Sherlock's weak frame. The boy looked like he was going to faint any minute. "You never have to do it alone..." John said, his hand suddenly stroking Sherlock's shoulder tenderly, reassuring him that he meant it.  
Sherlock looked at John with something that he had never seen before, his heart convulsing in its cage. John swallowed as the boys bandaged arm reached stretched out to cup his face gently. Sherlock's fingers tingled from the slight touch, heat shooting down his body. He felt so safe; like he belonged with John. A smile formed on his lips for the first time that day as he rearranged his lanky frame closer to the blonde. John looked into Sherlock's eyes and beamed, teeth shining. The pale boy, overcome with emotion, moved his head closer, tilting it slightly. John shut his eyes slowly, his heart leaping. The plump lips of Sherlock's were a centimetre away from John's when the noise from the rugby team was suddenly audible. The two bodies leapt apart, Sherlock smacking his head against the wall with a yelp. He crossed his long legs with embarrassment and rubbed his head; seeming a bit peeved. John looked wildly around him, licking his lips nervously. "I'm sorry. I have to..." Sherlock sighed and waved his hand dismissively, feeling offended by the lack of privacy this school had.  
"Go. Yes, I know." Sherlock said with an eye roll. John's eyes were compassionate, determination shining through his apologetic smile.  
"Meet me at lunch. I'll be here." He nodded at the seated boy, making a mental reminder to check his head when they next met. Temptation still hung in the air thickly. John smiled tightly and left before the boy could entice him any longer.

...

"Hey." Came the short greeting of Sherlock Holmes; the tall boy was sat against the wall, his long legs outstretched. John looked at the legs admiringly, biting his lip a little as the gaze ventured further up. He heard a snort come from Sherlock's mouth, to which he replied wordlessly by pulling a sarcastic face.  
The blonde sat down beside Sherlock heavily; he had barely got Sherlock out of his mind all morning. He smiled and started looking through his bag before bringing out two sandwiches. One was ham and one was plain butter. He tossed the plain one at Sherlock, who caught it with ease.  
"Still determined to fatten me up, are you?" The boy smirked and un-wrapped the sandwich, eyeing it like it was laced with poison. John rolled his eyes and bit into his, looking at Sherlock as he nibbled the sandwich gracefully.

The two boys ate in comfortable silence, enjoying being in each other's company. Sherlock smiled dangerously at the blonde. "Would you like to go somewhere?" He said, leaning in closely.  
"Er... Where?" John asked, taking another bite of the sandwich.  
"Follow me." Sherlock whispered, standing up sharply and walking off to enter the school. John scrambled after him, jogging to keep up with the boy's long strides.  
"Where are we going?" The smaller boy asked, trying to keep up with the taller boy. Sherlock smiled down at him with a glint in his eye.  
"You'll see." Sherlock quickened his pace, and led him down the corridor.

...

Sherlock opened the door to the dark room; where the school kept the gym equipment and various bits. He waited for John to go inside before he turned the light switch on and shut the door.  
"Private enough?" He smirked, edging closer to the smaller boy with a daring expression. John licked his lips nervously and nodded, finding the close space exhilarating. Sherlock's taller frame gently brushed up against the blonde's, sending a shiver down his spine. John grasped Sherlock's shirt and pulled him closer. Sherlock ducked his head; grazing his lips ever so slightly against John's. Pulling away, he gazed into John's bewildered eyes. The smaller boy gasped and placed his lips against the soft flesh again. They felt like velvet. Sherlock's hands found their place in John's hair, pushing him against the wall. The kiss was passionate, deepening as the boys started to moan lightly. The tall boy placed his leg between the stocky thigh of John's, pressing his body against him. John felt his trousers grow tight; his eyes growing wide as Sherlock left his lips and gently started to kiss his neck. The smaller boy gasped, the sound making its way to Sherlock's groin; making him feel uncomfortably constrained also. He had dreamt of a day like this, to be held, to be wanted. John released Sherlock's creased shirt and let them trail down his waist; remembering to be extremely gentle to the healing wounds. The raw passion was slowly dying, the two boys exhausted from the energy. Sherlock left the boys soft neck and placed his soft lips against John's for a long moment before backing off slightly; letting the blonde breathe.  
Sherlock felt his gaze trail from the boys toned chest to the uncomfortable situation that John was having in his trousers. There was a weird feeling, seeing that he had the power to do this to someone. The tall boy swallowed, looking into John's eyes for a fleeting moment before turning round suddenly and heading for the exit. Without a seconds thought, the tall boy opened the door and bolted, leaving John there to wonder what the hell had just happened.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you so much to Nitzan and my friend Annabel for giving me encouragement, it's much appreciated!

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! (I'm so sorry it's late! Please don't hate me... Here's a lovely big chapter to make up for it ^.^ sorry for any mistakes) Jasmine xx

P.S. Yay for tasteful porn!

Disclaimer: I still don't own these characters.

* * *

**Chapter Five:**

John blinked, momentarily stunned; placing a hand against his lips gently. His eyes squinted in thought before throwing the door open; running after Sherlock. He wouldn't give up without a fight. "Sherlock wait!" The smaller boy called, speeding after the disappearing figure. The taller boy didn't stop walking away from him, forcing John to use his strong legs to run down the corridor. "I said wait!" He proclaimed, grabbing the boys hand to stop him. He felt a bit stupid, but he couldn't hurt the boy by grabbing his wrist just to make him stay. "What's wrong?" The boy asked tenderly, trying to think what he had done wrong. Sherlock didn't turn around, he barely moved; his stillness resembling a statue.  
"Just let me go." He spoke quietly, the taller boy couldn't breathe. He shouldn't have kissed him. It was too quick; it made his head reel. Sherlock had messed everything up. "Please."  
Without saying anything more, John released the boy's soft hand reluctantly. His face crumpled slightly as he watched Sherlock's taller frame walk away slowly, consumed by regret. Distantly, he heard the bell go for fifth period, clouded by the heartbeat that was ringing in his ears. John managed to prise his eyes away from Sherlock's back and walked to the classroom bitterly.

...

Sherlock ignored the bell's screeching and marched out of the school; the teachers could go fuck themselves for as far as the angry boy was concerned. He walked briskly, the cold wind drying out his tearful eyes. What had he done? The taller boy wrapped his arms around himself, chastising his stupid behavior Why couldn't he have just been normal? A small yelp of frustration left his lips, curling them in disgust. He was pathetic, what made him think that he was worthy of John Watson's time, of his lips? Sherlock snarled, digging his nails in his sore arms, slowly feeling the guilt lift off his shoulders as he did so. He was a monster.

Sherlock dug his phone out of his tight pocket and dialed his driver, asking for him to pick him up at the coffee shop a few streets away from St John's. He waited, dancing from one foot to another to stop himself from being paralyzed by the cold. The boy sighed with relief when the car arrived, getting inside straight away. Sherlock rested his head wearily against the window, shutting his eyes and catching sleep for the first time that week.

A gentle crunch of the gravel driveway was enough to rouse Sherlock from his slumber, he swallowed as he woke up slowly; blinking the blurriness out of his eyes. He shot out of the car quickly; mumbling thank you to his chauffeur then running inside. Sherlock ignored the startled gasp from his mother and fled to his room, locking the door behind him. The pale boy gulped and ripped off his clothes, trembling in front of his mirror. He gaped at his thin reflection, staring helplessly at the scarred marble skin. With shaking hands, he slowly unraveled that bandages that covered his entire being. His lips let out a soft exhale as he saw what damage that he had done. His eyes started to sting as he looked at the stripes upon his skin. Thick, ugly scars covered his arms, his stomach, his thighs; almost his entire body. Who could ever grow to love such an ugly monster? He laughed harshly; who was he kidding?  
Sherlock held his head in his hands and moved to sit against the wooden floor. He sobbed quietly, who could ever love him? Even his own parents found him a fucking disappointment. He was useless, sabotaging his first chance at a relationship. The boy felt so fucking stupid; so helpless. The thoughts kept swimming around in his brain until he couldn't stand it anymore. He felt the urge; it was right beside him, whispering in his ear, demanding that he do it now. Sherlock shook his head violently. He couldn't, not now. He _wasn't_. A sudden flare of determination filled the boy's body as he went to his laptop and found the saved files under "John Watson". He scrolled through the pages and stopped when he found what he wanted. Fingers came up to rub against his lips nervously as he debated if he was being stupid.

...

"Hello?" A voice asked; it was tense and shaking, a voice the woman didn't recognize. She frowned, holding the receiver close to her ear.  
"How may I help you?" The small woman replied, holding a professional tone. She heard the boy gulp and stammer slightly.  
"Is... Is John there?" The boy asked, his voice trembling with nerves. The woman was taken aback; her son had only been there for a couple of weeks at the most. He had a friend already? Mrs Watson smiled.  
"I'll just get him for you... er...?"  
"Sherlock; the names Sherlock." The boy's deep voice blurted quickly, breathing a little heavily down the phone. The short woman rested the phone on the desk and went upstairs to her son.

Knocking on the door, she entered the small room. "John?" She called, "There's someone on the phone for you." John frowned, getting up from his bed gingerly. He made his way downstairs in front of his mother.  
"Who is it?" He questioned, confused. His mother smiled behind him, patting his shoulder gently.  
"He says his name was Sherlock." John stopped dead, considering if he even wanted to hear the boy's baritone voice again.  
Breathing deeply, the boy picked up the phone, putting it gently against his ear.  
"Sherlock." He stated, making it clear that he didn't want to speak to him. John heard the pale boy swallow; his heart giving a little pang.  
"John. I... Erm..." Sherlock's head was a mess, struggling to get the words that he wanted to say out. "Look, er... Can I come over?" The taller boy cringed inwardly, that didn't come out right. John was stunned, not sure of what to say next. There was an awkward pause; the tension hanging in the air, making Sherlock's stomach twist.  
"Erm.. Okay." He said without much thought. John wanted to hear what he had to say. It would certainly be interesting, that's for sure.

...

Sherlock ran about his room, trying to find a decent outfit to wear. He observed his appearance gloomily, feeling like a fool in his current clothes. The lanky boy flung his wardrobe doors open, searching for something appealing yet somewhat casual. His scanning eyes stopped on one shirt, the colour catching his gaze. Perfect. He donned a pair of black trousers with the shirt, feeling confident for the first time in months. Smiling at his reflection, he walked out of his house, giving his driver the information that he had gathered from searching through the saved files.

During the car ride, Sherlock was biting his lip through the tension. A metallic taste on his tongue told him to stop being such an idiot. The sickness in his stomach was becoming too much to bear; he just wanted to say sorry to John for being such a dick. He knew he was. Sighing, the tall boy slumped in the car, rehearsing what to say that could excuse his behavior.

...

There was a small knock on the front door. John walked to it nervously, opening it slowly. His heart twisted as he saw Sherlock. The smaller boy's eyes were drawn to the vibrant purple shirt the boy was wearing; it was taut against his marble skin. It looked phenomenal. Sherlock smiled stiffly, nodding in greeting. "May I come in?" He asked in a soft voice.  
"Yeah, sure." John said, standing back to let the boy come inside. "Erm... We should really go to my bedroom." He shot the taller boy a look. "My parents are here and..." Sherlock nodded, understanding the blonde all too well. He followed the short boy up the tight stairs and entered the boy's room. It was small and plain; Sherlock had expected something along those lines by John's neat nature. The tall boy perched on John's bed, feeling awkward and unwanted.  
"I... I wanted to apologize about my behavior earlier..." Sherlock looked at the carpeted floor; avoiding the other boy's gaze. "I understand that it was a bit... out of order."  
John scoffed, "Out of order doesn't even come into the same league, Sherlock. You kissed me then left me like I was keeping you hostage!" The blonde shook his head exasperatedly, flinging his arms in the air. "I don't know what you want from me."  
Sherlock looked at John wistfully, licking his bitten lips nervously. "I think you do." He said with a hint of desire. His eyes bore into John's, drinking in the hunger that he was emitting.  
John found his body moving towards Sherlock against its own accord. The blonde hesitantly sat on the long legs of Sherlock Holmes, bringing his lips against the taller boy's shyly. The brunette whimpered softly, wrapping his arms around John's small frame effortlessly. John explored the boy's mouth slowly, loving the excitement that he was causing the brunette. It felt amazing. John left Sherlock's mouth, slowly kissing the tender neck, making Sherlock gasp out loud. John giggled, the sound vibrating against Sherlock's throat, making his trousers grow very uncomfortable. The boy wriggled underneath John, feeling humiliated. John ignored the silent protest and eyed the tight purple shirt, god it was amazing. He ran his hands down the silk, enjoying the feel of the material and how it complimented Sherlock so well. Sherlock swallowed; mentally preparing himself for how John was going to react to his body. John looked in the boy's eyes. "You okay?" He asked quietly, leaning close to the other boy. The brunette nodded hastily, capturing John's lips again in a reassuring kiss. The blonde undid a button of the well fitted shirt, taking his time. John gaped at the perfect white skin. He placed a tender kiss on each healed scar, telling Sherlock that it was okay; that he was just as beautiful as everybody else. Hell, he was the most beautiful person he had ever met. The blonde smiled up at Sherlock. "You're beautiful" He whispered breathlessly. Moving his body up, he kissed Sherlock's lips again. "You're so beautiful." The taller boy snorted in disbelief, making John frown.  
"No I'm not." He said quietly, staring down at his ruined body in anguish. Sherlock silently berated himself for ruining the moment. John pressed himself closer to the troubled boy, shaking his head softly. Fingertips placed themselves under Sherlock's smooth chin, making the glacier blue eyes dart to John's blue orbs.  
"You are." He said bluntly, staring at the powerful Cupid's bow that Sherlock luckily possessed. Sherlock smiled gently, needing to hear those words again; he'd never been called beautiful before. It felt amazing. "You are fucking beautifu-" John's words were cut short by the pale lips of Sherlock upon his. It was the gentlest kiss known to man; stopping time in its tracks. It wasn't full of lust, nor desire; it was something entirely different. It was a kiss of thanks. And by God was it wonderful.  
Sherlock's hands held John's face lightly, grazing his fingers against the smooth skin. The pale boy felt incredible; completely at ease. The two boys sat close together, warm in the close proximity.  
The pale boy found himself yearning for more; it terrified him. He swallowed, slowly moving his hands lower on the toned body of John Watson, sliding his cold hands up the boys shirt. John gasped; not used to the touch. "Sherlock..." He whispered, closing his eyes at the pleasurable feeling. The hands touched the hard stomach, running his fingers on the slopes of John's muscles admiringly. The brunette found an overwhelming desire to see them; gently tugging the shirt off the smaller boy's being. Glowing bronzed skin came to greet him; sending a painful throb down Sherlock's body. Oh God.  
John smiled; his teeth shining as he guided the trembling hand lower. The boy's gasped in unison. Sherlock's eyes widened as the rough material brushed against his fingers, the solidity underneath the fabric making his heart pound. All thoughts ceased to exist in this moment. It was just Sherlock and John. Together.  
The smaller boy shook at the small friction; Sherlock's hand roaming very deliberately. Gaining more confidence, the boy pressed harder, eliciting a small moan from John. "_A-ah_" The sound filled the room; Sherlock smirking profoundly. "Fuck..." The blonde whimpered, resisting the temptation to press himself against the boy. His eyes were struggling to focus as the fingers against him stroked lightly, making his body jolt in surprise.

"John? Does your friend want to stay for tea?" A voice was suddenly audible from outside his door, loud and obnoxious against their silence. John sprang away from Sherlock, tripping over himself as he ran to his chair and crossed his legs just as his mother opened the door. She looked at their flushed faces and heavy breathing with a careful expression. John swallowed; looking over to the other boy quickly.  
"I'm ever so sorry, Mrs Watson. Unfortunately, I can't stay for much longer." Sherlock's deep voice said charmingly, rapidly collecting himself. "I'd love to stay again, though." The boy's mother smiled warmly at the pale teenager, her nature resembling John's.  
"Of course, dear." She answered the unasked question, turning around to leave the room. "You're welcome any time." With that, she was gone; her footsteps getting quieter as she walked downstairs.  
Sherlock chuckled at the danger of almost getting caught, the deep sound rising deep from his throat. It was beautiful. John gazed at the taller boy, admiring his perfect features. "Do you really have to go?" He asked, not meaning to sound so needy. The taller boy pulled a face, nodding regretfully.  
"Sorry, I'll see you tomorrow?" The taller boy said suggestively, ducking to plant a chaste kiss on John's lips, thanking him for such a wonderful experience.  
John smiled, "Come on." He said softly, leading the taller boy down the stairs. The two boys said goodbye quickly, Sherlock dialing his driver to come and pick him up.

...

"Mycroft." The boy said his voice emotionless. He sighed down the phone. "What do you want?"  
"Ahh, Sherlock." His brother's voice said as bright as he could. "I just wanted to ask you about your little... rendezvous."  
"Will you just, for once in your pathetic slimy life; leave. Me. _Alone_!?" Sherlock barked, hanging up the phone sharply. He was such a fucking creep, never letting him live his fucking life without prying in. Flashes of the time his brother had found him clouded his mind, paralyzing him. The hundreds of times that he had succumbed to the urges filled his mind. The thought dawned on him, making him feel incredibly small; he could never be a normal boy...


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Despite my recent feelings about this story, I've decided to get back on the horse and write this to the best of my ability.

**I enjoy doing what I do **_**and nobody is going to shame me for writing fanfiction. If you think it's stupid or perverted, say that to the 1,400 people that enjoy my story.**_ (Thank you guys so much by the way)

So excuse my little blip, I am going to finish this story even if it kills me, and I am going to write it my way.

Have fun with this chapter! (sorry for the shitty ending) Much love, Jasmine xx

P.S. My relapse is under control. Thank you for your concerns.

_Giorni Dispari and Due Tramonti by Ludovico Einaudi (my favourite contemporary composer)_

Disclaimer: If I owned these characters would I really be here?

* * *

**Chapter Six:**

Sherlock woke startled; a sudden itching spreading over his body. The boy groaned, his eyes looking desperately in the darkness, his lungs contracting and refusing to let any air in; the crawling of his skin demanding one thing. _No. _The ghostly figure gasped in shock, he wouldn't do it. He couldn't. Not today. His eyes screwed up in frustration; he knew he wanted to. He'd been a week clean, ever since that day. John's face flooded his mind; it was even more compassionate than he thought was capable. A strangled sob escaped his mouth; filling the deadly silence.  
Torn, Sherlock ripped the covers off his sweating body, all but leaping off the bed. The tall boy crept downstairs, heading to the kitchen for a cup of tea. It would clear his mind, and ease the thoughts away for a little while.

He glanced at the clock, screwing his eyes a little to see clearly. It read 2:30am. Sherlock snarled at the inanimate object, hating it for being so early. As the kettle boiled noisily; the itching died down, ever so slowly. He didn't noticed it at first until it died away completely; euphoria filling his features. He'd beaten it for another night. His smile was tight as he tried to ignore the fact that he could never beat it entirely. That once a person feels the urge... it never goes away. The boy sighed and made his cup of tea tiredly, he could do with a coffee, really. He sipped the hot drink carefully, thinking quietly.

Sherlock looked down at the empty cup sullenly; his fingers itched for something to do. A hand ran through his thick mop of hair in agitation. _Fine. _The boy sauntered to the living room quickly, ignoring the urge; his hand clenching and unclenching. He sat down on the cushioned stool and plugged his headphones in. There was a soft click of the power button as the pale figure flexed his fingers lightly. He pushed the cover back and eyed his beautiful Roland fondly. It had been a while since he played. His eyes flickered across the notes on the page quickly; noticing that Mycroft had been playing recently. Sherlock closed his eyes and started to play with gentle movements. He thought back to the song that had been stuck in his head when he had kissed John for the first time. _Giorni Dispari_ was suddenly played by his dexterous fingers, all the words he could never say being said in that moment. The delicate sound filling his ears as his eyes stung lightly. He hadn't played in such a long time... It made him miss his old life, before the self harm, before the depression. The boy swallowed, trying to think how different his life would be. The music was playing in the background as his fingers worked in swift motions. The music was getting quicker, more emotional when his thoughts turned to anger. People and their fucking words. The music turned darker, resembling a rainstorm until his hands suddenly stopped; the melody stopping dead. A shaky breath was released gently, the melody resuming in a lighter tone. The boy stayed like that for hours, playing until his fingers cried out in pain. Sherlock smiled as he turned the equipment off, he hadn't felt this calm in a long while.

...

The tall body walked into school with an invisible smile. He was prepared for the day; he had no bandages covering his body anymore. The wounds were healing and he would not for the life of him be dragged to that mindset again. His long strides took him to registration early. The shocked look of his teacher gave him the boost that he needed to speak without fear.  
"If you are going to stare at me I suggest that you mark me in first." Sherlock nodded to the register and sat down, smirking to himself.

...

The pale boy looked disinterestedly at his laptop, studying Shakespeare was shit. Everybody knew that he didn't put _that_ much effort into making sure that a fucking word meant a completely different thi-  
"Sherlock, sitting alone again I see? Can't really blame anyone..." The familiar jeer of Anderson rang in his ears, stopping his thoughts flat; the voice of that lowlife once again resembled a snake. The slimy boy chuckled, walking closer to sit next to Sherlock. Anderson flicked through the pages that the boy was using, hissing when the page cut him. "Shit!" He examined it angrily, stopping when he saw Sherlock's tight expression. Anderson sneered evilly, "I'd have thought that someone like _you_ wouldn't be scared of blood, surely? A fucking freak like you?" Sherlock's jaw clenched as he tore his vision away from the red liquid, his chest tightening. Someone like him? Hurt and anger bubbled inside of him, making him want to punch that weasel in the face.  
"Get the fuck out of my sight, Anderson." He spat vehemently, his eyes glaring at the cruel boy. Anderson chuckled, shooting Sherlock a testing look. That obnoxious fucking child. The taller boy broke, years of hurt flashing through his eyes.

Sherlock felt a shock of pain through his knuckle as it collided against the fuckers face. Snarling, the taller boy leapt on top of the fallen body, grabbing its shirt with a strangled roar. _He would not get away with this_. His fist made contact with the boy's nose, smirking when he heard it crack. Ignoring the shouts from the small crowd, he smashed his fist against Anderson's face once more before getting flung on his back. The weasel could fight, this would be interesting. The smaller boy pinned him down, struggling to keep Sherlock's taller frame in one place as the boy struggled against him. Pain erupted in Sherlock's face as Anderson got a clear shot. Hands pulled at the two boys, strong hands that would not let them go no matter how much they protested. In the distance, Sherlock could vaguely hear John's voice shouting at him. His writhing body went limp against John's arms, his breathing shallow and painful.  
"Get him out of here." John spat at the boys holding Anderson back. He smirked at the bloodied face as it winced when the boys hauled him off. Teachers ran after the twisting body, demanding what happened. The blonde sat Sherlock down, scowling at the injuries on his face. "What the fuck were you doing?" He shrieked, quietly thanking God that the library fled when the brawl began. Sherlock glared at the floor, refusing to look at his friend. "Look at me." He heard the smaller boy snarl, slowly turning his aching head to face him.  
"He... He deserved it." Sherlock struggled through his bloodied mouth, tasting copper. That boy had really wanted to hurt him. The pale boy shook his head slightly. "Let's just go." John licked his lips agitatedly as he helped the hurt boy up; hating how Anderson had hurt him. Sherlock looked down at his worried friend, smiling minutely. "He's hurt more." He said quietly, admiring the strong arms around him. John snorted, his eyes meeting with Sherlock's.  
"I bet he is." The two boys chuckled, their laughter like a single flower in a battlefield. It bounced off the walls lightly, filling the room as they walked slowly to the nurse's room.

...

The nurse frowned, finishing her chastising speech with a deep breath. Sherlock looked meekly at John, who smirked in return. They held in their smiles until the woman left to go to her office. The blonde gazed at the boys injured face, swallowing lightly.  
"So... Really. What did he say to you?" John sat close to Sherlock, moving his chair so that he could examine the boy's face properly. "It must have really struck a nerve..." Sherlock grimaced, hating himself for being so stupid.  
"He said I was a freak." The small voice replied, blue eyes looking into John's apologetically. The cuts had been cleaned, but it didn't stop the purple blotches from covering Sherlock's beautiful face. John growled, standing up to be level to the boy. He shook his head angrily.  
"Sherlock..." The blonde couldn't get the words out. "I can't even explain to you how far you are from that... You have to believe me." John looked deep into Sherlock's piercing eyes. To his surprise, he grinned devilishly.  
"I do. That's why I punched him." He giggled, his face crinkling despite the aching. "You really... I... Thank you." He said at last, his pale complexion blushing slightly. The blonde smiled kindly, sitting beside Sherlock's frame gingerly.  
"It's quite alright." He muttered, finding Sherlock's smell intoxicating. John had an overwhelming desire to kiss him, to hold him close to his body. The taller boy cast him a 'look' which said that it was written all over his face. "Sorry..." His voice whispered, taking his turn to blush; his face getting rather hot.  
"Don't be." Sherlock breathed, his face inches away from the blondes. He hesitated, wondering if it was the right decision, this kiss could change everything. His thoughts were stopped by John's lips meeting his gently. The pale boy's lips smiled into the tender kiss, revelling in the serenity of it all. _Due Tramonti_ ran through his head quietly as the boys showed their affections.

In the smaller boy's arms, he felt safe. Sherlock felt accepted. He wasn't judged; he was only shown the love that nobody had given him for his 16 years. He could be himself. He was home.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I am SO so sorry for not keeping up with this story; I got completely overwhelmed by school and by this story alone. The self harm scenes are very difficult for me to write sometimes and I wasn't in the right place to re-live those moments in my writing as it would be detrimental to my health and would also show in my writing. :) Thank you guys for understanding and being patient with me.

***ALSO*** I can't promise you that it's going to be a chapter a day kind of thing like I was doing because that was literally taking over my life and I can't do that anymore, so I'm sorry for that.

(I also don't have spell check on this computer so I'm ever so sorry if I get anything wrong)

Much love, Jasmine xx

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.

**Chapter Seven:**

John woke lethargically, his entire being disorientated. The boy moved his wooden limbs slowly, his face scrunching at the stiffness. The bed swallowed him in, welcoming him in with the soft material. The blonde reluctantly tore himself away from the comfy mattress, stumbling to the bathroom to have a shower. His thoughts slowly drifted to Sherlock, how he had kissed him the other week. The boy caught himself grinning smugly, _he had someone_. John wondered what the boy was doing; if he would still be asleep, or eating breakfast? Simple things like that plagued is mind every morning, it was pathetic really. It was like the boy was pining. Sighing, the boy got under the running water, liking the way that the warm movement soothed his skin and woke the tired teenager up gently, his thoughts reverting back to Sherlock...

...

The blonde boy rubbed his eyes and slouched in his seat, maths was so fucking boring. He never had managed to understand why somebody needs to learn how to draw a quadratic graph to be deemed as intellegent. It was pointless to him. John sighed and buried his head in his arms, trying to clear his confused brain. A small chuckle beside him made his body stiffen, _Sherlock._ It was ridiculous; the boy's very presence made him panic. John's eyes made their way to look upon the ghostly complexion of Sherlock Holmes. He could feel his facial muscles pulling slightly as he grinned widely at the lanky boy sat beside him.  
"Hello, John." Sherlock said through a bruised lip; it had been a little over a week since the fight. The dark purple blotches on his friends face shined like a badge of honor, and he looked... beautiful. John revelled in the thought, he could _think_ that now; without regret, or disgust or any anger at himself and his once tainted thoughts. Sherlock was beautiful.  
"Hi..." Sherlock smirked at the blonde's curt response despite the discomfort running through his cheek. John looked so intimidated by him, which confused the pale boy as he felt exactly the same way about John. _John... _The very word rolled off of his tongue and straight into his stomach, tearing the letters apart one by one and each flying around restlessly.

...

The loud chatter of students and the scraping of chairs were all that filled the busy classroom. The bell hadn't even rang yet, typical students. Sherlock sighed as he hauled his long legs out from under the table, his knees brushing against the stocky leg of John's, giggling as he saw the boys tanned face grow red in obvious embarrassment. The blonde licked his lips nervously as he stuffed his equipment in his rucksack to go to lunch. Lunchtimes were always special to John as he could sit and talk with Sherlock like any couple would, just hidden away.

The two teenagers made their way onto the feild, being careful not to get mud on their shoes. Bloody weather. They both sat down on the cement; it was the place where they first met. A place once surrounded by grief and depression replaced with light laughter and loving eyes. As Sherlock unwrapped his lunch, John couldn't help noticing him wince as he took his first bite.  
"Does it hurt...?" He asked cautiously, not wanting to look at the boy in the eyes in fear of making Sherlock agitated. Since the fight, he had the ability to over protect the boy next to him.  
"Of course." Sherlock breathed, taking another painful mouthful of cucumber sandwich. Since meeting John, the boy had unlocked a strange love of sandwiches within Sherlock. "But... It was worth it." The boy looked into the shining blue orbs of John Watson, loving how in this light he could see his own battered reflection. In that almost surreal moment, he felt something strike his heart, something like barbed wire was coiled around it and squeezing. Hard. Sherlock found his vision start to blur, what was going on? His heart was in his throat, convulsing and bleeding out. Within the midst of the blind hysteria he was going through, his ringing ears sought for John's voice. Suddenly, his newly filled stomach rejected its contents violently. The last thing that Sherlock saw before the world went black was the angelic face of the boy he... Oh.


End file.
